


Ib - The Story

by patrroklos



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Anime/Video Game Fusion, Art, Dark, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Fiction, Gen, Horror, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 22:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11999325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrroklos/pseuds/patrroklos
Summary: (A story based on the game 'Ib')A seemingly ordinary art gallery holds an exhibition for a great artist, and visitors come from all over to observe the arts. But when a quiet individual discovers some unusual activity within the gallery, things quickly begin to take a dark turn...





	Ib - The Story

**Author's Note:**

> A story based on the horror RPG 'Ib', made by Japanese artist kouri.
> 
> All dialogue and sign readings are quoted directly from the game.
> 
> I do not take credit for the storyline or characters.
> 
> Having played the game prior is not essential in order to read this (although I definitely recommend because it's a great game)
> 
> Finally, I hope you enjoy! Please give feedback if you can; this is my first time attempting to write a full story.

By the time we had arrived at the gallery, midday was already upon us.

My parents and I had set out on our journey several hours prior, but due to heavy congestion, our approach was severely delayed.

Exhaustion and relief played in the minds of all three of us as we scrambled through the colossal doors, our breaths taken away immediately at the beauty and magnificence of the gallery. Suddenly, all of our irritation vanished without a trace, and we were left with hearts filled to the brim with enchantment and anticipation.   
So much precious time had already been wasted trying to get here, but now I wondered how many more hours I may spend in this place; gazing upon painting after painting, into the eyes of the dead, along with those who perhaps never even existed at all.

A mere few moments later, my mother turned to me, her gentle features illuminated by hopefulness.  
"Well, we're here!" she announced with a grin. "This is your first time in an art gallery, right, Ib?"

I nodded, slightly bemused by her question. She was my mother; how had she not been aware of whether or not I had visited a gallery before?

She raised her arm, gesturing to a large poster pinned above the reception desk.   
"We're here today to see an exhibition of works by an artist named  _Guertena_ , and they don't just have paintings, but also sculptures, and all kinds of other creations! I don't doubt that even you'll enjoy it, Ib."

She flashed me another grin, and I smiled back at her, attempting to arouse a look of hopefulness equivalent to her own. My father joined our conversation then, his uplifting aura as powerful as my mother's, his smile just as bright.

"Should we get to the reception desk?" he asked. He was a man of few words, but was kindly nonetheless.  
"Ah, yes," my mother replied. "Lets get some pamphlets as well."

We approached the main desk and signed ourselves in. Almost immediately my mother began launching a trail of enquiries at the poor receptionist, making him evidently uncomfortable. My father and I waited impatiently in silence. Why she could not simply appreciate the art like a gallery visitor should was beyond me.

Very soon, I turned to her, tapped her shoulder, and quietly muttered a request.

"Hm? You want to go on ahead?" she looked at me with a remote hint of disappointment, and a twinge of guilt arose within me - I often felt guilt for rather insignificant things; it was something I deemed a true nuisance, but was also something I knew not how to rid myself of.  
I glanced briefly at the receptionist and noticed him drawing breath, looking drained of all will to be present at his desk.

"Really, Ib..." my mother paused and regarded me, planting her gentle hands on her hips. "Oh, alright. Just make sure you're quiet in the gallery, okay? Don't make a ruckus! Not that there's any need to worry about you, I suppose..."

I smiled politely and thanked her, before turning to venture off into the gallery.  
"Don't cause the other visitors any trouble, now!" I heard her call, but already I was approaching the first room.

\- - -

The gallery did not seem to be too busy, but many of the works that held my most interest were presently occupied by small crowds of people. It is difficult to observe and appreciate artwork when the heads of towering strangers is all that employs your view. I spent many minutes stretching and straining for a peek at any painting I could, but my efforts were in vain. Eventually, I gave up and wandered into the next room, which fortunately was far less crowded than the previous.

Upon my venturing, I stumbled across a plaque informing visitors of Guertena's exhibition, and stopped to read.  
' _Welcome to the world of Guertena!'_ it read _. 'We truly thank you for coming today. We're currently holding an exhibition for the great artist, Weiss Guertena. We hope you deeply enjoy the art of the late Guertena, whose creations carry such mystery and beauty both._ '

I felt intrigued. Never before had I heard of the name  _Weiss Guertena_ , but there was a rising feeling of excitement within me, and I felt a strong desire to discover the 'mystery' and 'beauty' of this artist's works.

I turned back around, and noticed suddenly the magnificent work of art painted in the center of the floor, barricaded with golden stanchions. My hairs stood on end as amazement overwhelmed me, and I stood gazing in awe at the breathtaking masterpiece before me.

The subject of the painting very much resembled an angler fish; it was unsightly and ugly, and with teeth like daggers aligned along its jaws. Its single eye was a black, vacant hole, staring penetratingly into the souls of those who watched from above. The lure did not glow, yet a pair of much smaller fish had gathered around it.

Next to it, in a corner, was another plaque, fixed onto the surface of a varnished wooden block.

' _Abyss of the Deep -_  
 _A world where man will never stand... To capture that world, I decided that I would set it within the canvas_.'

Glancing back at the spectacular piece, curiosity and fascination engulfed me entirely, if only for a brief moment. I was captivated by the charm and mystery it beheld, and suddenly my liking for this  _Weiss Guertena_  was undoubtedly strong.

I continued into a spacious corridor; various framed paintings ornamented the bare walls, all displaying a likeness that I could not quite describe. This area was vacant aside from a single man, who observed one of the marvelous paintings with a look of great admiration. I approached the painting, named ' _Serpent's Spirit',_ beside the lone gentleman, and examined the striking, vibrant colours that dashed across the canvas in a frenzy. Abstractionism was never my most favoured type of art, but this particular piece held my interest for long enough that you would perhaps consider otherwise.

The towering man beside me softly sighed, an expression of pleasure, satisfaction.  
"Man..." he began. "The great Guertena does not disappoint."  
He shook his head with folded arms, eyes remaining fixed on the painting before him. I attempted to catch a glimpse of its name, but from my distance I was unable.  
The man tilted his head the opposite way.  
"The more I look, the deeper I see.. Don't you think?" He turned to me with a curious expression, genuinely willing for an answer, to which I had none. Politely, I smiled and nodded agreeingly. He continued to observe in awe.

I took the chance, while the man was no longer speaking, to slip away down the corridor, disappearing around the corner in perhaps only a matter of seconds.

After a long period of straying from each painting to the next, I eventually found myself in a long, desolate hallway. It was devoid of both man and creation, aside from a single painting displayed across one wall, rather immense in size. Its frame was golden and exquisitely detailed, flaunting its beauty as it danced around the perimeter of the enthralling masterpiece it encased.

This work, too, held an abstract element about it, and depicted a mystical fantasy realm with beautifully strange details comprised in every inch. Colour splashed throughout the chaos like a plague, dauntlessly infecting every bizarre aspect with a hint of enchantment and twisted beauty. Beneath the painting was another plaque: ' _Fabricated World_ ' was its name.

I was in awe of the wondrous piece, inspired and enraptured by it's unusual beauty, when, from beneath the aureate frame, I noticed a cerulean liquid that leaked down the pale wall. It trickled from the frame until coming to a sudden halt, as if alluring me towards, waiting for me to investigate, and it's deepness was obtruding against the whiteness of the wall. I attempted to gain a closer look, but only managed a couple of steps before the lights suddenly flickered, and turned off.   
Panic struck within me suddenly.   
My attention digressed immediately and I backed against the wall, eyes darting across the ceiling in desperate search for a cause of the light's faultiness, but there was only darkness.

Silence, and darkness.

I must admit I had never felt more vulnerable than I did in that moment, and that is all it was; a mere moment, yet at the time it felt more like an eternity.

The blackness felt heavy, almost tangible, and the quiet was tormenting. I could hear nothing but my own fearful breaths as they rapidly escaped my lips. My body pressed firmly against the wall, and my hands gripped onto the flat surface as if holding on for dear life. In reality, I knew there wasn't much to be afraid of, but I could not shake the paranoia that had presently devoured my mind and senses.

A soft buzzing sound emerged within the silence, and a second later the lights flickered back on. They hummed lowly, exposing me in my rather absurd stance against the wall in unreasonable fear. I straightened up and composed myself, huffing in attempt to calm my breaths. Despite now regaining my ability to see, I could not help but feel apprehensive. Something about the atmosphere was off-putting and strange, unfamiliar.

Nervously, I glanced down each end of the corridor, realising now how silent it still was. I could no longer hear the quiet murmuring of people, nor the occasional click of a camera's shutter. Only an eerie, lingering silence that dripped with menace.  
It was as if the world had been muted in the midst of the blackout, as if every being had been swallowed up by the darkness that befell without warning. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, my body readying itself for defense.

I walked with a careful and wary tread down the corridor, scanning my surroundings frequently for any sign of threat. Deep down, beneath all the unwavering fear that stirred inside my chest, I strongly hoped to stumble across another visitor, that I was not entirely alone in this vast gallery.   
I searched thoroughly, finding not a single person who would accompany me. The only other presence I could certainly acknowledge was the deathly stares of faces that hung from every wall, eager to escape the confinement of their frames, but having no means of doing so.  
Eventually, my slow, careful steps progressed into quick, hasty strides, until very soon I began to run. I searched in frantic fear for my parents, for anyone, circling the gallery and revisiting hallways and corridors that I had already checked twice before. But every place I looked, there was no one.

My breath was lacking and my energy drained as I finally approached the main doors. I felt incredibly foolish that I had not immediately tried the exit, and it seemed as though the towering doors mocked me as I gradually closed the distance between us. Hopeful and anticipatory, my hand stretched out to reach the handle, but before I could even touch it, a thick darkness fell upon me and the gallery once again. This time, the lights did not turn back on.

Panic began to rage inside my chest, and my shoulders heaved as I desperately shook at the door handle. My efforts were to no avail, and I stepped back from the mahogany doors in defeat. The darkness that had flooded throughout the gallery so briskly had blanketed every surface; entirely consumed by this forbidding void.  
Soon, my eyes began to adjust; the golden handle which once shone so brightly and glimmered like sunlight was now dull and muted in the darkness. I stared at it with pleading eyes, as if begging for it to unlock itself, and allow me escape. Of course, that idea was utterly absurd, but given my situation I would have tried anything to escape.

Through the windows I saw only darkness still; no light nor sign of the dreary, cloudy skies that had been present upon my journey here. If the outside world that I so longed to see had been visible, I would have attempted to smash through a window, regardless of the cost or penalty for the damage.   
But alas, the darkness that hung so heavily within was evidently present outside, as well.   
No words could describe the isolation and despondency that I felt at that time, having no means of contact at all with humankind or the outside world.

As I stood lost and bewildered in the darkness, I pondered about my parents. I wanted so desperately to see them again, to hear my mother's joyous, bright voice, my father's soft, subtle words. I wondered if they were searching for me as I had been them, if they were somewhere safe, but in all honesty I could not even guess where they could be. Nothing made any sense, there seemed to be no logical explanation to my current situation, or the happenings that had just occurred. Fear and utter confusion rendered me helpless in the midst of the gloom.

I decided to make my way back to  _Fabricated World_ , remembering suddenly the mysterious leakage that had occured before all of this turmoil. The unsettling, blatant stares of framed faces were difficult to ignore as I traversed the halls, the piercing gazes of wide, unmoving eyes seeming to tear into my flesh as I passed.

Soon, as I continued slowly through the halls, a quiet, repetitive sound began to emerge. I paused to listen, and fear swept over me suddenly like an ice-cold wind. I recognised the sounds as footsteps- slow, careful footsteps that seemed to squelch as if plodding through wet mud. Suspicion and concern caused me not to feel relieved at the sound of footsteps, at the possibility of there being another person here with me, but rather to feel endangered and even more afraid than I was.

I was certain there was no one else in this gallery with me; I had checked and checked multiple times, and each time I found no one. If there was someone else inside, I would have been surely aware by now.

I forced myself to persevere, wishing so desperately for the dreadful silence to return and rid my ears of the sound of those footsteps.

When I at last arrived back at the great painting, the once bright and vibrant colours were now too dulled and bleak from the darkness. My eyes, now fully adjusted, flickered down to the leakage, but upon noticing something different about it, my stomach dropped.

' _Come down below Ib. I'll show you some place secret..._ '

Words had been formed with the mysterious blue substance, painted below the frame with such careless effort.

Each finger-painted letter was messy and uneven, like that of a child's, yet evoked such fear I felt I might have been sick. That deep, cerulean liquid that had been used to paint those words seemed to gawk so menacingly in my face, as if it had known from the moment it began to spill that this is what the outcome would be. You may find it laughable how utterly terrified I was, but my terror was so strong, and so deceptive, that it truly caused me to feel threatened by a liquid substance, and wary of it as if it were sentient.

I was petrified. Goosebumps had dispersed over my skin in an instant. My breath hitched in my throat as I attempted to comprehend my situation. I could feel my mind buzzing with terror and confusion. I felt vulnerable, helpless, and alone. Yet, despite my profound fear, I simultaneously felt a strong compulsion to investigate. Something unfamiliar within me had begun to take control, a somewhat reckless and curious attitude, one that appeared to only strengthen as the minutes ticked by. Every scare and horror I was faced with seemed to leave me feeling bolder and audacious, more daring as opposed to my usual gutless self. Perhaps I had gained some stupidity in the midst of my debilitating fear, or perhaps my reactions were deemed as expected.

I glanced hesitantly to the side, only just able to see the wall that marked the end of the hallway, where the corner turned. The darkness that enshrouded me seemed to stir and sway stealthily, as though attempting to mimic the sensation of being submerged in deep waters. That may not have been the reality, but it was certainly how it felt. Helpless and hopeless, like I was suffocating in the open air, as an addition to the confusion and fear that already whirred within my mind.

As I persisted downstairs, the ghastly faces that leered from their frames watched me intently with dead eyes; a reminder that I was indeed alone, yet not quite so alone as I had initially believed.   
The gallery was rather difficult to navigate, having no means of light or guidance other than my own instincts and poor vision in the darkness. It was not until I found myself back at the reception desk that my disorientated state ceased to be so strongly.  
I peered toward the empty doorway that led into the next room, the uncanny painting of the angler fish appearing merely as a dark mass upon the floor. But as I carefully edged closer to the room's wide entrance, more and more shapes and colours began to come into vision, until eventually I stood above the painting with a newfound fear, as yet another strange happening was evident before me.

The line of golden stanchions that guarded the perimeter had been interrupted. On one side a small gap had been made, and through them a trail of wet, cerulean footprints lead directly into the painting. Reluctantly, I approached until I stood in their place, gazing down in fear at the creature beneath. So realistic it seemed that I began to doubt if it even was a painting, as the deep teal colours seemed to swirl together like smoke, and unfathomable detail only heightened my assumption. Perhaps I was merely hallucinating, as delusional as I was from the intense overburdening of fear and bewilderment, and in such a short span of time, too. I felt I was in a trance as I gazed upon this imaginary being, seeming entirely unable to tear my eyes away from its beguiling features; its ragged teeth, its hard, blank stare, silvery skin that looked smooth to touch.

But too soon I was dragged out of my daydream as a sudden, hard shove sent me plummeting towards the ground. I had no time to think, no time to react. The sight of the gaping mouth closing in on me was the last thing my eyes saw before my consciousness wore thin, and I was engulfed in total darkness once more.

\- - --- - -

**_I apologise if this chapter seems boring, but hopefully it will get more exciting later on! Just please bear with me- my skill with story writing is quite minimal, but I hope to improve._ **


End file.
